"Perhaps you will oblige me by going to the window and telling me who it is, Mrs.Bunting ?" And his landlady obeyed him.
"It's only Bunting, sir--Bunting and his daughter." "Oh! Is that all ?" Mr.Sleuth hurried after her, and she shrank back a little.

She had never been quite so near to the lodger before, save on that first day when she had been showing him her rooms.
Side by side they stood, looking out of the window.

And, as if aware that someone was standing there, Daisy turned her bright face up towards the window and smiled at her stepmother, and at the lodger, whose face she could only dimly discern.
"A very sweet-looking young girl," said Mr.Sleuth thoughtfully.
And then he quoted a little bit of poetry, and this took Mrs.
Bunting very much aback.
"Wordsworth," he murmured dreamily.

"A poet too little read nowadays, Mrs.Bunting; but one with a beautiful feeling for nature, for youth, for innocence." "Indeed, sir ?" Mrs.Bunting stepped back a little.

"Your breakfast will be getting cold, sir, if you don't have it now." He went back to the table, obediently, and sat down as a child rebuked might have done.
And then his landlady left him.
"Well ?" said Bunting cheerily.